First Times
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl ZA but AU. Set post season 2. Everybody has a first time. Carol/Daryl Rated for language and suggestion.


**AN: Here we go, this is from a tumblr prompt that wanted the first run that Daryl and Carol took together.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Everybody's got a first time," Daryl said.

As soon as the words left his lips and he heard the light snort followed by a somewhat muffled giggle behind him, he knew what he'd done wrong. And without even turning around, he knew what her face looked like. He smiled to himself and swallowed down the expression before he turned back.

"You know what the hell I'm talkin' about," he said. "Be serious or you gonna get us both killed."

Carol pretended to be scolded, but her smile broke through before she could make her false regret even appear partially sincere.

She wasn't likely to get them killed. They'd seen a handful of Walkers, but there weren't too many in this area. They were all, as far as Daryl could figure, still herding in the same general direction—the direction opposite the way that they'd come—following something that probably didn't even exist any longer.

They'd left the farm four months ago. They'd gone from place to place. A night was spent here, another there. Barns, houses, sheds, split up and sleeping in cars—they laid their heads where they could and they prayed that each day would find them a safer location. The herd they'd left at the farm was still drawing Walkers—since they seemed drawn to large groups of their own kind—but it wouldn't take long before the winds changed and they picked up the scent of live flesh on the run. It wouldn't be long before they were barely outrunning a herd again, zigging and zagging to try to lose them.

And if they were going to be caught in the thick of it, then Daryl was going to make sure that this time she wasn't caught unable to defend herself. He would always be there, if he could, to pull her out of the way of the Walkers—but he didn't want her to have to rely on him. Or anyone else for that matter. And he knew that wasn't what she wanted either.

Gun training was limited. He'd worked with her on shooting his crossbow. It wasn't the same as handling a gun, but it gave her some idea of the basics. And she was pretty good with it. At night they stayed up, took watch together, and in the quiet hours Daryl worked with her to shoot at cans and any other target that he could throw together for her.

Today wasn't about guns, though, and it wasn't about the crossbow. Today he hoped to get in just enough trouble with her that knives would suffice. She still shied away from the dead creatures when they got too close. Even when she killed them, because instinct told her she had to, the fear was still written all over her features. She would tremble for a short time afterwards, always trying to hide the fear. A little more experience, and a little more one on one, and she'd get over that. The fear would never leave entirely—it hadn't even for Daryl—but it would be controlled.

And that's what he wanted—to help her control her fear. After all, she'd given him more than he could mention. She'd helped him with some of his demons. Now it was time to repay that, at least in some manner.

Daryl thought taking her out on a run was the best way to go. She didn't want to be a burden, and she felt herself to be one. Going on a run would make her an asset. It would make her a provider. Learning new skills? That would make her a bigger asset. It would make her a protector.

And all of it would give her confidence—and confidence looked good on her.

He'd suggested to everyone else that they take the run alone. Her first run. Her first time out and away from the group. They could get in and get out in pairs easier than they could in a group. They drew less attention from the Walkers that remained in the area that way. The creatures seemed less interested in them, or maybe they had a harder time detecting them, when there weren't as many of them gathered together. They'd left the group in a fairly safe location—an abandoned motel where the desk clerk had been the only one left to greet them when he stood snapping and snarling behind the desk with a hole through the side of his face that showed he had piss poor aim—and they'd gone off together miles away.

Daryl hadn't even been sure she'd get back on the bike—but she'd crawled onto it like she was born there. She'd crawled onto it like it was where she was meant to be. Sometimes, he wondered if that was exactly where she was meant to be. But, of course, he'd never tell her that.

Now they were crunching through broken glass in an old general store and, even though he'd scolded her for her noise because he'd wanted to escape the slip he'd made, he was wishing for something to draw up a few rotted road pals. After all, how was she going to get any practice if there wasn't a single damn thing to practice on?

She seemed entirely unaware of his plan, though. She went about packing the bags that they would load on the trailer they'd found to hitch to the bike. She stuffed them with things the group would need—knowledge she had that greatly outweighed his knowledge of what to grab on a run—and he laughed to himself when he even overheard her humming. She was pleased as punch with her job. She was tickled damn pink. And she was comfortable enough with him, in the busted up and ransacked convenience store, that she acted like she didn't have a care in the world.

No one had ever trusted Daryl like that before. He was the kind of guy that people checked his money for counterfeit and patted their pockets when he walked away from them. He wasn't the kind of guy that inspired women to hum pleasantly in his presence and let their guard down.

Not until Carol, at least.

Daryl stepped outside a moment, sure that the store was secure, and lit a cigarette from the carton he'd snagged from behind the counter—half crushed and the only one left behind from some earlier raid—and he whistled a few times to see if he could stir any adventure up for them.

He didn't prove to be well on guard when, coming out with one of the bags, it was Carol who managed to catch him off guard and to nearly make him physically jump.

"Don't carry any of this out," she said, heading toward the trailer. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself or hurt your delicate hands."

Daryl sucked his teeth at her, but she was pleased with her remark as well. It showed on her face. And it didn't really bother Daryl. Not at all.

"What else is left in there?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing we want," Carol responded, putting the bags on the trailer. "Nothing anybody wants. This place has been cleared before."

Daryl growled to himself.

"Shit happens," he muttered. "We'll—check out a couple more places. Look for somewhere to hold up for the night."

Carol turned back and an evil smile crept across her lips. Daryl held up a couple of fingers, the cigarette still pinched between them, in her direction.

"Hey—stop," was all he said. It was all he had to say. She clucked at him, smirked again, and then sashayed a short distance away to look in the window of the next place he fully intended to go into, even though they hadn't cleared it yet. It was a guns and ammo place. The general store was cleared well enough he could figure there was nothing but some mouse shit left in the gun store, but he was still going to look.

While Daryl was focused on his cigarette and searching the area around them for any signs of movement that might give them a little action, he was shocked again. This time by a sound he knew. This time by a sound that had the uncanny ability to make his stomach feel like it jumped up and got stuck somewhere around his tonsils. Carol screamed.

Daryl snatched his head in the direction of the store that she'd been peering into and his stomach dropped from his throat down to weigh around his ankles. He ran as quickly as he could toward the store, praying that he wouldn't be too late. As soon as he burst through the door, he found Carol. She was backed against a large and empty gun display cabinet and there was a Walker that was a little too close for comfort that had her pinned in the area.

Daryl's first instinct was to rush the Walker, put him down, and check her over. He stopped himself though. This was the learning experience he was looking for. The first of many, he hoped, and he couldn't squander it because he let his nerves get the best of him. After all, this was about learning to keep control of your fears—no matter what they might be.

"You got him!" Daryl called.

The Walker lost interest in Carol for a moment, hearing Daryl, and turned to look at him. It considered him for a moment, even shuffled a foot in his direction, but then decided that Carol was a closer and easier snack.

"Get him!" Daryl called, demanding she act. "You got him!"

Carol yelped again, but his demands lit something up inside her. He watched as she raised a shaky hand with the small knife that she carried and clearly prepared herself to stab the Walker. He wasn't going to give her much more time to prepare, though, and even though she was holding him off somewhat with one knee, he was going to lunge soon. It was clear.

"Put your hand on his head!" Daryl barked. "Push him off! Then stab him! Now!"

The words worked. Though her face showed her fear and evident disgust, Carol did what she was commanded to do. She pushed at the Walker's forehead as he leaned near her and she brought the knife home—right into the rotting socket where the Walker's eye was tentatively hanging.

He dropped to the floor and she stood, still leaning with her back against the cabinet, panting.

Daryl closed the space between them and quickly put his hands on her. He turned her around, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, searching her almost frantically for bites. Sure that there was nothing there, he let go of the breath that he'd been holding during the search and sighed with his relief.

"You're alright," he said. He chuckled to himself with the feeling that came over him. "You're alright and you put him down. On your own. Without me."

Carol laughed then, a quick and sharp burst of nervous laughter.

"I did it," she said, breathing out the words.

"You did it," Daryl repeated. "Now—just gotta do it a dozen more times. Two dozen more. You'll get the hang of it. It'll be like riding a bicycle."

She looked at him, her chest still heaving.

"It's terrifying to see them so close," she said. "I hate it."

"Gets easier the more you do it," Daryl said. "You'll get better at it. More confident. Hell—it's your first time out. But—you'll be a damn pro in a week. Just—gotta keep doing it."

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Carol surprised Daryl. And with the surprise, she sucked his breath out of his chest once more. Quickly—quickly enough that he could tell that it surprised her too—she brought her lips to his. She pulled away, a shocked expression on her face, and she looked at him a second before she brought her lips back to his. This time she held the kiss longer. This time, her body came closer to his—closer than it had ever been off the bike.

When she broke away, she was out of breath again, if she'd ever really recovered it from before.

"I—don't—we..." Daryl stammered out. His thoughts were spinning in his mind, colliding with one another like trains run away on overlapping tracks.

Carol smiled at him, softly this time. She reached and patted his chest with her fingertips.

"It's OK," she said. "Let's—find somewhere for the night?"

Relieved to have an out, and relieved not to have to admit that which terrified him far more than any of the Walkers that they might come into contact with, Daryl nodded and gestured toward the door with his head. Carol didn't look to be shaking any longer, but Daryl hoped she didn't notice the tremble in his own hand when he waved in that direction.

"You didn't want to check the place over?" Carol asked.

"Nah," Daryl said. "Nothin' here. But—I'ma find you a better knife. You gonna need it if you're gonna start taking care of yourself. Not here, though. Nothing left here worth having."

Carol hummed at him as she stepped through the store and reached the door that they'd both entered through. She stopped, her hand on the doorframe and turned back to look at Daryl.

"It's better just to call it a night," Carol said.

Daryl hummed his agreement. The all too familiar smile crept across Carol's lips.

"Daryl? Everybody's got a first time," Carol said. "You helped me through mine. I could help you through yours—if you want."

Daryl heard the light giggle even as she turned her head and stepped out of the door, calling back a moment later to ask if he was coming—another giggling trailing back to him to beckon him to follow and face a few of his own fears.


End file.
